His high ideal of women shrank from allusions to stomachs.

He used to speak so nicely (quoting some poet) of the sunshine of my breast.

Vague, perhaps," said Mrs.Presty, modestly looking down at the ample prospect of a personal nature which presented itself below her throat, "but so flattering to one's feelings.

There's the luncheon bell again, I declare! I'll run on before and tell them you are coming.
Some people might say they wished to be punctual.

I am truth itself, and I own I don't like to be helped to the underside of the fish.